Odd Walking Thoughts-

You can’t always do what you want. But you can do now what you will. Grab the fucking book. Ignore that screaming argument pulling your metallic rage sideways and sit in your best possible spot to read words you’ve been wanting to know. Then raise your glass of I don’t give a fuck and cheers the sun going down. Because no matter what, you will either see the sun again, or it’ll never care enough to wake you up.

-M. Taggart

Poem-

By strife’s design we disallow individual freedom of mind
Carefully staging failures- gaffed as though they truly happened
Stuck in mindful numbness, fear, intolerance of self-worth
And yet we may stand screeching of victory at first light

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts- Rise

She paints death alive again. Cement cracked. Who said that? I did. Where’d you get it. I heard it once. The sky raged looking for shelter. Pulling at faces. Where’d you hear it? -In my head. And that’s why I trust her. The foundation of our souls stood upright releasing each of us freely.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018

Dedicated to my Wife. Megan.

North Woods

I’m giving myself a mulligan.

We rode in my GMC. It’s a truck. We smoked cigars. A lot of them. Some of them were small and some were big. Like the mountains we were driving in. It’s easy to become lost in the North Woods. There are hundreds of miles of wilderness. No lights. You can drive and drive and see nothing but forest and Moose. I capitalized that for fun. Sometimes we would stop and have a beer. We’d get out of the truck and someone might say, “It is time for a beer?” None of us would look at the time.

I love those old roads. The dust. The freedom. I smash my mind thinking I know what real freedom is and how it’ll ruin this writing now but I’ll write it anyway. Freedom is being debt free. That means all debt. And to shed mental debt is the most difficult kind. So, when I drive the old roads, and pull over for the massive logging trucks, and we whistle to the old Golden Road, I am as free as I’m going to be in that moment.

Cheers. I like this one much more.

North Woods
I snapped this fucker. I like it. 

 

 

poem – to become

Oh yes- It does roam-
It does wander-

Who am I to become in the way-
Freedom is an un-strangulation of thought
when held in place-

Silent is the coming of my soul-
I can fall asleep knowing

**

 

-M. Taggart copyright 2017
Thank you for reading. You are welcome to share this. To whomever shared a recent poem of mine on Facebook, thank you. I treasure that action as a great compliment.

That poem is-
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/2017/10/25/poem-15/

Odd Walking Thoughts –

Anger is freedom. Tell this to a peaceful mind who’s never known, or literally felt the hand of abuse, and you’ll find a child tossed like an outcast. Alone, habitually, alone. Anger will rise- showing a path. A path the child absorbs and carves larger because no one else would. The mouths now turn toward the audience, wide open, spilling secrets of lies. And they preach, always, this emotion is wrong. You are wrong. Anger is wrong. You are unwanted. The mouths preach this untruth to the child. The lies grow from one perfectly peaceful mind to another. And the child sits alone. Carving their path. Having learned to read the most important story of all.

-M. Taggart

Thanks for reading.

Here’s another ‘Odd Walking Thoughts’
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/2016/08/04/odd-walking-thoughts-again-the-frog/